Post-Warsaw
by Unnatural Causes
Summary: A story about Antek's life in post-apocalyptic Warsaw.


As this is the first story I published, I have only skimmed the chapter, so I would appreciate any comments, positive or negative, and any advice on changes I should make to this chapter, or later ones. Also, tell me if you want more. Enjoy!

„Nothing is born which Death makes not subject of his state."

-BHARTRHARI

**Prologue**

**A Different Perspective**

As Antek ascended up the crumbling steps, he listened attentively to the sounds of the empty city. Wind rushed through the trees, but he heard no rustling since there were no leaves. No birds were chirping, even though it was May. The city was deserted. The buildings were crumbling. Ironically, the only building that survived was of Soviet construction.

Antek paused his contemplations to change his air filter, while scanning the stairs for any signs of danger. After he outfitted his mask, he shuddered a little to ward the cold off, and proceeded climbing the steps with his rifle slowly bumping against his chest. He scanned the stairwell with his flashlight, ready to pull up his rifle at a moments notice, if anything appeared. Antek was muttering under his breath as he climbed the stairs. As he reached the top, he sighed '780…'. He looked around at the beautiful marble floors, the granite faces, carved into the walls. All this, untouched by the ferocities outside. The glass doors that lead to the outside, surprisingly, remained intact. As Antek strolled over to the exit, he noticed that a mirror covered one of the walls. It was dusty, but he took a rag from his coat, and cleaned off the dirt. His reflection surprised him. He hadn't had a chance to look at himself for a long time, and the last time he had, he was in regular clothing. Now, he couldn't even recognize himself. He was dressed in military cargo trousers, his coat was a little worn, the brown material fading at his joints, but it still held warmth, and had no tears. The rifle on his chest was of Russian make, a Kalashnikov, still reliable after many years of service in different hands. In contrast to him, the weapon glistened with a metallic sheen. He cleaned and oiled it every day if he could. This weapon saved his life many times, and he felt guilty if he didn't return the favour. His rucksack hung tightly on his back, packed tightly, yet it was strapped down to reduce his size as much as possible. It was rare to see a pack like his. Grey like the concrete of the buildings, it helped him hide when in danger, and was not all that heavy. He loved his equipment; he could rely on it more than any human being. He felt, that it was part of him now, and felt naked without it. He looked with pity at his own eyes, barely distinguishable behind the frosting visor of his gas mask. He decided to move, as he started to feel the cold air through his jacket.

He lightly tried the doors leading outside, but they didn't budge. He started to pull them harder, and he almost decided to just shoot the glass, until he noticed a plaque on the door. In faded letters, there was a sign '_pchać'. _He lightly kicked the glass, and the door yielded easily. He snorted at his stupidity, and his visor fogged up from the warm air. He quickly lifted his rifle, cursing himself for not taking care. He waited until the fog disappeared, his eyes trying to pierce the blur calming down only once a hole large enough to look through appeared. He was surprised how quickly he panicked, but decided nothing bad had really happened and even some of the frost melted away. With a sigh, this time through his mouth, he moved through the door.

He was surprised how bright the sun was up here, and lowered another protective cover on his mask, to protect him from the glare. The clouds had long since disappeared, and nothing filtered out the suns now burning rays. He looked around the protective bars, once to stop visitors from falling, now it was rusting in places, in others you could see some creature forced itself through. It was nothing compared to what he saw on postcards. He was surprised to see several coins spilling out of the pay-binoculars. He picked one up, and looked at it with amazement. It was covered in soot, but he rubbed at it with his gloves, and he saw that it was a 5 _złoty _coin. A circle of silver with a golden centre. He knew these were not the actual materials used to make them, but he still was amazed by how well it looked. He had only seen the small nominations in the markets, sometimes notes. But never coins like these. He looked at the minting date, 2004. Just a year before the war, people dropped coins in these binoculars, and looked at the splendour, of this magnificent city. For years torn by war, it always prevailed. Antek kept on reminding himself in moments of doubt, that just like Warsaw, humanity would prevail from this crisis. The satisfaction this gave him never lasted long, as he looked over the ruins of this once thriving city. Finding such a coin in a building visited so often, was a rare thing to do, he smiled knowing that this coin might feed and equip him for the coming week, never the less, Antek couldn't let his guard down, least he wanted to stay here forever. He felt butterflies in his stomach, as he looked over the stone railing onto the street below. He knew this building was not the highest in the city, but it was higher than he'd ever been. Accustomed to rolling flats of the now desolated outskirts of the city, even climbing a small hill made him feel sick. He turned his gaze back to the balcony scanning the floor for anything he might find useful. He left he balcony, disappointed that he did not find anything. But he shrugged of the feeling, raised his rifle, and returned to the stairwell. As he exited the building, he turned back on the steps, and looked up at its peak. Just a few minutes ago, he was standing there, looking at the hole city, he felt almost impervious behind the metal bars. Now that he was back on the ground, his back was hunched, and his eyes were constantly darting from shadow to shadow, scanning for any danger. His mood went to grim as he felt this sudden loss of power, but he shrugged it off, and continued on his walk back to the ruined station he had once called home.


End file.
